


Tramlines

by besanii



Series: tennis!verse [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, F/M, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Prince of Tennis AU, Self Confidence Issues, Student Council, Tennis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 05:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besanii/pseuds/besanii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school!au, where Enjolras is Student Council President and Captain of the Tennis Club and Grantaire joins both because he wants to be around him more.  Features oblivious!Marius, observant!Cosette and Grantaire/Eponine!BFFery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tramlines

**Author's Note:**

> I'd meant to do this a long time ago, but I hadn't remembered until now. But here is a fic that I wrote a very, very long time ago (actually, it's only been a few months, but it seems longer than that) and was my very first Les Miserables fic ever. Also my first time experimenting with present-tense writing. You guys can be the judge of how it turned out.
> 
> Inspired by The Prince of Tennis, which was my fandom before Les Miserables. It is called [tennis!verse](http://besanii.tumblr.com/post/41097657158/the-tennis-verse-collection) on tumblr.

Enjolras wraps up his speech to thunderous applause.  He thanks the audience, tidies up his cue cards and returns to his seat on the stage.  It takes a while for the applause to die down and when the principal takes the podium again, the entire student body has dissolved into distracted murmuring. 

“An inspirational inaugural speech from your new student body president.  Now…”

Courfeyrac elbows Grantaire in the ribs.

“I heard he’s the new captain of the tennis team,” Courfeyrac whispered.  He smirks.  “Think you’ll finally try for the regulars this time?”

Grantaire’s gaze flickers only very briefly at him, before returning to focus on the blonde sitting on stage behind the principal. 

“Yeah, maybe.”

 

 

 

 

Marius is on his way to afternoon training when he accidentally bumps into someone at the lockers.  He barely loses his balance, but he manages to scatter the other person’s books all over the ground.  Stammering an apology, he bends down to help gather them into a neat pile and straightens up to hand it back.

He finds himself staring into soft blue eyes and the world momentarily falls away.  The girl tucks a stray golden curl behind her ear, blushing at his intense stare.

“Thank you.”

And then she smiles shyly at him.  He shakes himself out of his reverie and flushes with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers again.  “I-I’m Marius.”

He hands her back her books.  She takes them with another smile and he feels a thrill of electricity run through his arm where their fingertips brush. 

“And I’m Cosette.”

 

 

 

 

Combeferre taps a pen against his clipboard as he does a mental headcount.  He frowns as he spots a tall figure emerging from the clubroom and making his way through the first years doing warm up laps around the courts.

“Marius, you’re late!” he shouts.

Marius waves at him and jogs over, setting his bag on the nearby bench.

“I’m sorry!  I ran into this girl – I mean,  _literally_  ran into her – and I had to help her pick up her stuff…”

“Practice started thirty minutes ago,” Combeferre tells him, jabbing his shoulder with the lid of the pen.  “As part of the regulars, you should know better.”

“I’m sorry!”  His eyes widen suddenly and he glances around the courts.  “Enjolras isn’t here yet, is he?  Does he know I’m late?”

Combeferre opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by an authoritative voice.

“The punishment for tardiness – ten laps.”

Marius winces as a hand claps down on his shoulder and turns around to come face to face with Enjolras.  The captain is wearing a disapproving frown.

“Twenty laps if you don’t leave right now,” he says.

“What!” Marius protests.  “But Grantaire isn’t even here yet!”

Combeferre resists the urge to slap his forehead and maybe even Marius’ while he’s at it.  He wishes the younger man would know when to shut up.  He eyes Enjolras nervously as the captain’s frown deepens. 

“What Grantaire does is not my issue – nor yours,” he says flatly.  “Thirty laps.”

 

 

 

 

“Shouldn’t you be at practice?”

Grantaire peers up blearily at Eponine as she crosses her arms and scrutinises him.  He sits up, yawns and props himself up against the wall of the stairwell with a lopsided grin.

“Well,” he drawls, “ranking matches aren’t for another three weeks, so I figured I could use the time to catch up on some sleep instead.”

She nudges him with a foot.

“Don’t you have to  _practice_  so you can become a regular?”

“I  _could_ …but we both know that Apollo would never let me on the regulars.  He barely tolerates me being in the _club_.”  His grin turns wicked.  “And it  _kills_  him that I got onto the Student Council as well.”

“Yeah, how did you manage that?” she asks curiously.  He spreads his arms out and shrugs.

“What can I say?  I’m a charmer.”

 

 

 

 

He wins his matches 6-4, 6-3 and 7-5. 

As Enjolras hands him his new regulars’ jersey, Grantaire gives him a wide, goofy grin, which is met by a cool stare.

“Oh thank you, my captain,” he says dramatically, taking the jersey.

“Don’t make me regret this, Grantaire,” Enjolras warns him.  “If you show up late or miss a single practice – or match – you’re off the regulars.”

He stalks off to find Combeferre.  Grantaire looks down at the uniform in his hand and his smile softens a fraction.

“I’ll try my best, Apollo.”

 

 

 

She spots him immediately.  She always does.  It’s as if she unconsciously knows exactly where he is and her eyes are automatically drawn there.

She raises her hand and opens her mouth to call out to him, when he suddenly turns around and waves to someone coming from the side.  She lowers her hand slowly when she sees that pretty blonde transfer student from her Literature class approaching.  She ducks out of sight when they start walking together, toward where she is standing by the school gates.

They pass by where she stands and she watches as he shifts his tennis bag to his left hand so he can help carry hers with his right.  They give each other shy, adoring smiles and walk right past her.

She clutches her battered bag closer to her chest and wonders if this is how it feels to have your heart broken.

 

 

 

Enjolras does a last check of the clubroom before he locks up for the day.  This is usually Combeferre’s job as vice-captain, but Combeferre has a doctor’s appointment and Enjolras had paperwork for the club to catch up on anyway.  He pockets the key after locking the door and is walking around the back of the building when he hears it.

_Thwack.  Thwack.  Thwack._

Curious as to who would still be practicing at this hour – it’s almost sundown on a Friday – he makes his way to the other side.

It’s Grantaire.

The other boy is still in his jersey and is rallying against the wall of the clubroom, alternating between forehand and backhand shots.  As Enjolras rounds the corner of the building, his eyes flicker over briefly in recognition and he stops, catching the ball on the gut of his racquet.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Enjolras tells him, coming closer.

“I was done for the day anyway.”  Grantaire shrugs and goes to put his racquet back into his bag.  “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“Combeferre had to go early.”

“Ah.”  Grantaire shoulders his tennis bag and turns to leave.

“I’ve never seen you doing extra practice on your own,” Enjolras comments.  Grantaire stops in his tracks.  “I’m glad you’re finally taking this seriously.  You’re not a bad player when you put your mind to it.”

A spark of hope lights his eyes for a very brief moment before Grantaire squashes it down fiercely.  His expression when he turns back to face his captain is his usual lazy, mocking grin.

“Oh captain, my captain,” he replies with a bow.

Enjolras frowns, frustration bubbling in his chest as Grantaire leaves, the echoes of his laughter still ringing mockingly in his ears.

 

 

 

“ _It’s not like he knows how you feel, ‘Ponine_.”

“Yeah, I know.”  She flops back onto her bed.  “Still hurts like a bitch though.”

“ _Maybe you should tell him_ ,” comes Grantaire’s voice over the phone.

“And maybe you should shut up,” she snaps back.  “You’re not one to talk.  Everyone in the school knows you only joined the Tennis Club and the Student Council because you’re in love with Enjolras.”

Her words are followed by a long stretch of silence from Grantaire’s end, except the sound of harsh breathing.  She feels immediately guilty for her outburst.

“Grantaire?” she ventures, a little meekly.  “R?  I’m sorry, I – ”

He hangs up.

 

 

 

They emerge victorious from the district tournaments and Enjolras is more than pleased at the results.  They hold a celebratory party at the Café Musain later that night.

Marius fiddles with his phone all night and is called out for it by the team, who tease him mercilessly about finally getting himself a girlfriend.  He bears it with good humour, though the dark flush creeping up his neck is visible even from the back of the room where Grantaire is sitting.  He’s silent most of the night and scowls at the drink in his hand as if it has offended him in some way.

“You’re being awfully quiet tonight.”

Grantaire stiffens, lowering the bottle from his lips as Enjolras slides next to him at the corner table.  He sets the drink down and clutches it with both hands, shooting the blonde a wary look from the corner of his eye. 

“You played well today,” Enjolras continues.  He claps a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder in a comradely fashion.  “I’m proud of you.” 

They are the very words he has longed to hear pass those lips for years, but for some reason Grantaire doesn’t take much joy from hearing them.  Instead, he suddenly feels like he’s about to cry at the smile Enjolras is giving him.

 

 

 

 

“Courfeyrac, do you have a minute?”

Courfeyrac excuses himself from his conversation with several of his female classmates and makes his way to the door of his classroom, where Combeferre’s head is poking in.  He is momentarily surprised when Combeferre grabs his arm and yanks him into the corridor. 

“Hey, what the…!”

“Courf, have you seen Grantaire anywhere?”

“What?”  Courfeyrac shakes his head.  “No, he hasn’t been in class for the past few days.  I assumed he’d been skipping.  Have you tried the roof?  He usually likes to sleep there during the day.”

Combeferre shakes his head.

“We’ve been looking all around the school.  He didn’t show up at this week’s Student Council meeting, or this morning’s practice and Enjolras is about to spit fire.”

“Maybe he’s sick?” Courfeyrac offers.  The excuse sounds weak to his own ears.  “Have you tried his phone?”

“I don’t have his number.”

“I left my phone at home today, so I can’t give it to you,” he confesses.  His expression brightens.  “But I know someone who might be able to help.”

 

 

 

 

Eponine shakes her head as they pose the question to her.

“Sorry, guys, he hasn’t been returning my calls either.”  She turns away and rubs one arm uncomfortably.  “We’re not exactly on speaking terms right now.”

“Did something happen?” Courfeyrac asks, before an idea hits him.  “This isn’t about the rumours about him and Enjolras is it?”

She doesn’t respond and that is answer enough.  Combeferre looks dumbfounded.

“I thought that was all just rumours,” he says.  “It’s actually true?”

“No!  No, it’s not,” she snaps, agitated.  She hesitates before continuing.  “Not exactly, anyway.” 

“What do you mean ‘not exactly’?”

“The details aren’t important,” Courfeyrac says shortly.  “Finding him takes priority right now, in case anything’s happened to him – and before Enjolras actually decides to kick him off the regulars.”

 

 

 

 

Enjolras is the last person Grantaire expects to see at his door.

He’s staring dumbly at the other boy, who is standing just outside his room, trying to work out if he’s actually there when Enjolras clears his throat pointedly.

“Your mother let me in.”

“Oh.”  He steps aside.  “Come in, then…I guess.” 

Enjolras strides purposefully into the room and pauses by the desk.  He takes a moment to survey his surroundings, eyeing the liquor bottles on the bookshelf with distaste – they had obviously been stashed away hurriedly.

“Why are you here, Apollo?”  Grantaire’s tone is weary.

“You know why.”  Enjolras whips around to face him.  “I warned you, very clearly, when I gave you that jersey.  If you miss any practices –  _even one_  – you’re out.”

“So kick me out then,” Grantaire replies disinterestedly.  “We both know you’ve wanted to.  Hell, kick me out of the Student Council as well, while you’re at it.”

The look on Enjolras’ face tells Grantaire that he’s sorely tempted by the suggestion.  But then the expression hardens again and there’s Enjolras – leaning in, towering over him with a glare that sends chills down his spine and his next words are laced with frustration, anger and…confusion?

“Why are you like this, Grantaire?” he demands.  “You showed us – showed  _me_  – that you can do well!  I thought you had finally sorted out your issues and found the motivation to keep fighting –” 

Grantaire scoffs.  His breath reeks of alcohol and Enjolras resists the urge to push him away.  But they do part – Grantaire backs away and drops down to sit on his bed.

“That’s just it, isn’t it?” he says.  “I don’t  _want_  to keep fighting.  I’m not like you – I don’t have that kind of motivation or perseverance.  I don’t  _care_  about tennis all that much – and I care even less about the damned Student Council.”

“Then why did you join?” Enjolras demands.  “I saw you training alone the other day!  You wouldn’t waste time or energy training for something you didn’t care about!”

“Oh for the love of God!” Grantaire explodes, jumping to his feet. 

His lips are moving soundlessly, as if he is trying to say something, but anger stays his voice.  He gives up and goes to the shelf to grab a bottle of brandy.  He takes a huge gulp, winces at the burn and wipes his mouth on his sleeve.  Enjolras watches this with a mixture of disgust and pity.

“Three days,” he says finally.  “If you’re not back at practice in three days, you’re out.  This is your last chance, Grantaire.”

 

 

 

 

Grantaire staggers into the classroom the next morning, five minutes before class is due to start.  Courfeyrac meets him at the door.

“Where have you been?” he demands.  “We’ve been looking for you for days!”

“Out.”  

He throws himself onto his chair and slumps over the desk.  Courfeyrac catches a whiff of him and grimaces.

“Are you drunk?  Oh God, you’re drunk aren’t you?” he groans, covering his face with his hands.  “If Enjolras sees you like this –”

“’S too late,” Grantaire slurs.  “He came over to my house yesterday and basically threatened me if I didn’t turn up.”

“Enjolras did?” Courfeyrac scratches his head in confusion.  “How did he get your address?” 

“Dunno.”  Grantaire tries to shrug, but it doesn’t really work with his face planted on the desk.  “But he did.”

 

 

 

_Courts.  Now._

Eponine comes skidding to a halt in front of the chain-link fence surrounding the tennis courts, panting from the exertion.  Courfeyrac is already there and drags her over to the gate, practically pushing her through to stand on the sidelines of the first court. 

“What’s going on?” she demands, shaking her arm free. 

“That!” Courfeyrac says, pointing at the two people on the court.

Enjolras.  And Grantaire.  She blinks for a second, her brain frantically trying to process the scene in front of her.  Enjolras – and  _Grantaire_?  She barely notices when Marius comes up beside her and jumps when he speaks. 

“Grantaire came to practice, drunk,” he explains with a frown.  “Enjolras could tell straight away.  He challenged him to a match.  I’ve never seen him so furious.” 

“A match?” she repeats in disbelief.  “What –  _why_?”

Marius shakes his head and turns to watch the court, where Enjolras is preparing to serve. 

“If Grantaire wins, he gets to keep his regular’s position.”

“And if Enjolras wins?”

“If Enjolras wins…” He lets out a heavy breath.  “If Enjolras wins, Grantaire is banned from the club.  Forever.”

 

 

 

 

Grantaire doesn’t remember if he’s ever played tennis drunk, but he swears never to do it again.  He’s sweating after the first game and is ready to throw up after the third. Across the court, Enjolras has barely broken a sweat. 

“Stand up,” he hears his captain say.  “Stand up and fight for it, Grantaire.”

But he doesn’t want to fight.  He joined the club to watch  _Enjolras_  play.  He wonders if Enjolras even knows how beautiful his tennis is.  He slumps on the bench and fumbles blindly for his water bottle.  It’s pressed into his hand and he looks up.

“Buck up, R.”  Eponine gives him an encouraging smile.  “You can do this.”

“’Ponine…” he mumbles and drinks deeply from the bottle.  “Thanks.”

A towel is dropped over his head and he yelps as Courfeyrac starts rubbing it vigorously over his hair and face.

“C’mon, Grantaire.  You got this.”

He pushes Courfeyrac out of the way and staggers to his feet, leaning on his racquet like a cane.   _It’s only one set_ , he tells himself.   _Just get it over with._

 

 

 

“Game Set Match, Enjolras.  Six games to love.”

A silence falls over the court as Enjolras walks up to the net.  Grantaire is, surprisingly, still on his feet.  He stumbles over to the net to take Enjolras’ outstretched hand.

“Guess that’s it for me, then.”

He tries to take back his hand, but Enjolras’ grip is like a vice.  He looks up at the captain in confusion and is immediately arrested by the intensity of his gaze.

“Apollo…?”

“Turn in your jersey tomorrow morning,” Enjolras tells him.  “And if you turn up to school drunk again, it  _will_  be reported.”

He holds his gaze until Grantaire nods weakly and he lets go.  But as soon as he does, the other boy sways alarmingly and pitches forward.

“GRANTAIRE!”

 

 

 

_Slap_

Enjolras’ eyes widen a fraction as the hand connects to his cheek.  He can dimly hear his teammate’s surprised shouts, but his focus is on the burning sensation that is coursing through his skin.  In front of him, being restrained by Marius, is a seething Eponine.

“What are you doing, ‘Ponine!”

“How could you do that to him?” she growls, struggling against the tight grip Marius has on her arms.  “You know he wasn’t feeling well enough to play!”

Enjolras remains silent, fingers touching his stinging cheek lightly.  Marius, however, spins her around and gives her a hard shake.

“Hey!  Don’t blame Enjolras!”  He seems to not see Eponine’s shocked and hurt expression as he continues.  “He didn’t want any of this to happen either!  Why are you being so harsh on him?”

She shakes herself free of his grasp and stares at him for a long moment with tears in her eyes.  He realises what he’s done and moves to apologise to her, but she slaps his reaching hand away.  Before she leaves, she gives Enjolras a last glare.

“You fix this, Enjolras.  I mean it.  All he ever wanted to do was please you.  I don’t know what else you did before this, but you better go in there and fix it  _right now_.”

 

 

 

 

Cosette is very quiet as she listens to Marius talk later that afternoon.  Almost too quiet.  They’re sitting at a small café near her house, grabbing a drink together before he walks her home.  As Marius talks on about how Eponine ran away from him and won’t answer his messages, her expression becomes thoughtful.

“– so now I have no idea what’s going on,” he finishes with a sigh. 

She smiles softly at him.

“I haven’t really talked to Eponine before, but it seems that she’s in love with you, Marius.”

He gapes at her like a goldfish, eyes wide and mouth open.  She reaches over and pushes his chin back into place, running her fingers over his cheek.

“From what you’ve told me,” she continues, very gently,  “I think she’s been in love with you for a very long time.”

“We’re just friends, Cosette,” he tells her hoarsely.

“I know.”  He wishes she would stop taking that gentle, understanding tone.  “But even if she wasn’t in love with you, you’ve still hurt her with your actions.  Go and make things right, Marius.  She deserves that much.”

 

 

 

When Enjolras slides open the door, he half expects to be brained by a projectile, courtesy of Eponine.  But Eponine isn’t there.  He sighs and slides the door open completely, closing it behind him with minimal noise.  His hand is still on the door handle when a drowsy, weakened voice calls out to him.

“ _Apollo_.”

He steels himself and turns around, opening his mouth to speak.  But the sight of Grantaire nestled amongst what seems to be every pillow in the sick bay, regarding his presence with surprise and hesitation, obliterates the speech he has mentally prepared.  He suddenly finds it hard to breathe and only the sound of Grantaire’s voice repeating his name, beckoning him over, unfreezes his body enough for him to move over to the bed.  There isn’t a chair available, so Grantaire pats the bed and Enjolras perches on it.

Grantaire has his eyes closed again and Enjolras is staring at a spot on the sheets next to their hands.  For a while, they don’t speak – they don’t even look at each other.  He isn’t sure if he is the one who moves, or if Grantaire is the one who moves  _him_ , but the next thing he feels is the rough fabric of Grantaire’s jersey against his cheek and the weight of his arms around him.

“I’m sorry, Enjolras.”

He isn’t sure if it’s because Grantaire is calling him by his name and not  _captain_  or  _Apollo_ , or because _Grantaire is apologising to him_  – but Enjolras suddenly feels like crying.

 

 

 

He doesn’t spot her until Grantaire’s caught sight of him and lifts a hand in acknowledgement.  She glances over, startled, but then turns around and resolutely ignores him.  He feels a twinge of guilt when she does, because he realises that she’s  _never_  turned away from him before and now, because of him, she feels hurt enough to do so.

From behind the tree where he is half-hiding, Cosette reaches out a hand and  _shoves_  him forward with more strength than her slight frame should have.  She retracts her hand quickly and gives him an encouraging smile before waving him away.  He misses the fond smile she bestows on his back as he slowly makes his way over to the bench outside the clubroom where they’re sitting.

As he stops a metre away from them, Grantaire clears his throat and mumbles something about paperwork for the Student Council meeting before he dashes off.  Eponine glares balefully after him.

“Eponine,” Marius begins carefully.  She stares at her hands.  “About the other day…”

He’s interrupted when she springs to her feet and gives him an apologetic smile.

“You were right.”  She rubs her arm, an unconscious habit of hers when she’s nervous.  “I shouldn’t have blamed Enjolras and I shouldn’t have slapped him.  I apologised to him this morning, but…I guess I owe you an apology too.  Sorry.”

“No!  ‘Ponine,  _I_  should be the one –”

She silences him again with yet another dazzling smile and he wonders why he’s never noticed it before.

“Come on, Marius, if you keep fretting, you’ll turn into an old woman,” she teases and flicks him between the brows to prove it.  “See?  You’re getting all these frown lines to go with it.”

He grabs her elbow as she’s turning around and she blinks at him in confusion.  He smiles at her.

“Thank you.”

The smile she gives him in return is more beautiful than he’s ever seen before.

“My pleasure.”

 

 

 

“Oh, I thought you’d be alone.”

She’s surprised, to say the very least, when she pushes open the door leading to the roof and sees both Grantaire  _and_  Enjolras sitting against the chain-link fence.  They have books and papers scattered around them in haphazard piles and seem to be having a heated discussion about something.  They look up when the door opens and Grantaire’s face splits into a wide grin.

“Hey, ‘Ponine.”

Enjolras excuses himself and gathers his papers to go.  Before he opens the door to the stairwell, he turns back to them.

“You’ll pitch your ideas for the cultural festival at tomorrow’s meeting, I hope,” he says to Grantaire.  He gives Eponine a short nod.  “See you around, Eponine.”

“Look forward to it, Apollo.”

“Bye, Enjolras.”

He gives them a tiny smile and leaves.  Eponine flops down on the ground next to Grantaire, in the space that Enjolras had just vacated, and pushes some of the papers around.   He smacks her hand lightly and packs them away.  She raises an eyebrow.

“I thought you quit the Student Council?”

He shrugs.

“I did – I think.  But, for some strange reason, my resignation letter got lost in the mail and the next thing I know, the President is ripping my classroom door off its hinges because I was going to be late to the meeting.”

He’s complaining, but she knows him well enough to know that he’s happy and that is enough.  She ruffles his hair fondly.

“How about you, ‘Ponine?”

She smiles and leans back against the fence.

“I’m fine.”  He gives her a questioning look.  “Better than fine, really.  It’s not such a big deal anymore.  I’ll get over it.”

When he reaches an arm around her, she automatically leans into him and rests her head against his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  They sit in contented silence until Grantaire speaks.

“Hey, ‘Ponine?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks.”

She smiles and pats his arm. 

“You’re welcome, R.”

He chuckles and shifts to press a quick kiss on the top of her head.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://besanii.tumblr.com/)


End file.
